


Day 13 - Sports

by Shardinian



Series: Shardinian (Mishka)'s OBEYMEmber! [13]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Blood and Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shardinian/pseuds/Shardinian
Summary: I understand that many people love stories about #justdemonthings, but this one is... especially dark.Just a warning.
Series: Shardinian (Mishka)'s OBEYMEmber! [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993873
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Day 13 - Sports

**Author's Note:**

> I understand that many people love stories about #justdemonthings, but this one is... especially dark.
> 
> Just a warning.

Belphie sipped his whiskey, set the glass down, and stepped up to the line. He ran the serrated tip of the dart between his fingers, checking for broken barbs or chipped tips, then fastidiously smoothed out the violet fletching to ensure a steady flight.

Drumming his fingers on the table, Satan rolled his eyes. “Do you really have to check every single one?”

“Yes.” Balancing the dart between his fingertips, he studied the board, checked the wind, took careful aim, and let his next shot fly.

Their dart board wailed.

Belphie nodded. “20 points?”

Satan set down his wine, slipped on his glasses and squinted at the board. “20 points.” He added the score to Bephie's tally (Satan: 190 Belphie: 205), and plucked a green dart from the enormous pile in the middle of the table. “I'm up.”

Standing at the line, he aimed… and waited.

And waited.

“Well?”

“Well what? I can't get a shot while it's still writhing around like that, can I?”

He gave it a few more seconds, picked his target, and snapped the dart across the field.

The board spasmed, and started sobbing.

“…Damn.”

Belphie chuckled. “I’ll be generous. Five points.”

“Ugh. Thanks. I’ll take it.”

Belphie's next shot was precise, and powerful, and devastating…

…but the board didn't make a peep.

Satan raised an eyebrow. “You missed.”

“I did not.”

“Did it scream? I certainly didn't hear anything. You missed. No points. My turn.”

“Are you blind? My dart’s right there. Dead centre. Come here and look.”

Satan sighed, and joined his brother on the field. Together, they stepped up to the board and leaned in close.

_“Please… please stop…”_

“Look.” Belphie reached in between five tightly clustered darts (3 purple, two red) and pushed a heaving lung out of the way to get a better look. “Right there. Through the heart AND a lung. Two organs is double points. It didn't make any noise because we got stuck with a shitty board, that's all.”

“That wasn't your last shot,” Satan scowled. “That one was three rounds ago.”

_“Stop, please! I'm not… not supposed to be here…”_

“Is your memory as bad as your eyes?” Belphie reached up and tugged on the fletching of a viciously barbed dart that was stuck fast in the iris of a convulsively twitching eye. “This one was three rounds ago.”

The eviscerated board wailed and bucked against the spikes that were pinning it, spread-eagle and split wide open like a frog on a dissecting table, to the heavy wooden frame.

“Ahhh… hmm. Maybe you're right. That was a nice shot,” Satan grudgingly confessed.

“I know it was.”

_“Talk to me, please! There's… there's been some sort of mistake… An awful mistake…”_

Belphie rolled his eyes. “Why do I always get stuck with the whiners? It's so annoying.”

“Maybe I'll go for its mouth next,” Satan mused. “It won't be able to whine with its tongue skewered to the back of its throat.”

Belphie chuckled. “You could never make that shot.”

“I absolutely can. Care to make a bet on it?”

“All or nothing?”

“Deal.” Satan grabbed their sobbing board by the chin and wrenched its head around. “You. Keep your mouth open, so I don't have to smash this shot through your teeth.”

_“No! No, please! I'm begging you… I was a good person! I don't deserve this! I was supposed to… supposed to go…”_

Belphie quirked an eyebrow. “To heaven? You didn't seriously think you'd end up _there_ , did you?”

_“I… I did everything right! I worked hard… I loved my family…”_

Satan snapped his fingers, and materialized a slightly outdated cell phone out of thin air. “And this?”

_“My… my phone? What about it? I never used it for anything bad… I… I was always polite…”_

“And how many hours a day did you spend staring at it?” asked Belphie.

“Was it the first thing you looked at, when you woke up?”

“The last thing you put down, before you went to bed?”

“Did you panic when you couldn't find it?”

“And nearly break down in tears, that night you dropped it in the toilet?”

_“Well yes, but… but that's not killing someone! That's not stealing or lying or cheating on my wife... what does that have to do with anything?!”_

“Are you serious? It's literally the first one on the list.” Belphie frowned at his brother. “Do they even read that damn book anymore?”

“Apparently not.”

The young demon cleared his throat, looked around to make sure nobody else was listening, and quietly intoned the word of God. _“’And God spake all these words, saying, ‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery._

_You shall have no other gods before me.’’”_

Satan shuddered. “…Gross.”

“Ugh. I know. Now I'm going to have to wash my mouth out when we get home.”

_“But… but you don't understand! The world is different, now!”_

With a wry smile, Belphie gave the wretched soul a condescending pat on the head. “Just because the world changed… doesn't mean the rules did.”

_“No… that… that can't be true! That would mean that… that **everybody** …”_

“Indeed it would,” Satan mused, as he looked out across the field.

Under a cloudless red sky, from horizon to horizon, a hundred thousand demons laughed and joked and tallied their scores, while a hundred thousand peeled-open dart boards wailed and sobbed and writhed in unending agony, staked forever to their immobile wooden frames.

“And they all tried so hard to be good. It's almost a shame.”

Belphie smirked. “Makes for one hell of a tournament, though.”


End file.
